


sonder

by littlefoxfires



Series: anything, anything (i'll give you) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Love Triangles, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefoxfires/pseuds/littlefoxfires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sonder

**Author's Note:**

> So, I feel like I'm just that guy who just writes really dark shit, but this idea had been floating around my head for a while, because somehow I've always liked the idea of a Cage/Clarke/Bellamy love triangle. That being said, please pay attention to the trigger warnings. Please. Seriously. 
> 
> Trigger Warning (!!) Statutory Rape, Child Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Underage

Bellamy knows that relationships are complex things. Not particularly romantic ones, though they are not excluded from the list.

He and his sister, for example—Bellamy loves hard, too hard, and he is aware Octavia often feels smothered. She is sixteen, and stubborn, free-spirited, a person completely unbothered and unaffected by who other people want her to be. If anything, she longs to be free. Unfortunately, her brother keeps a leash on her. One would assume it is because of his protective nature, and that is true. Bellamy has been her defender since she was born, a tiny, helpless, squealing bundle placed carefully in his small arms by a tired mother, and _of course_ , he wants to protect her, to keep everything bad and evil out of her way. But, it is also because without her, he doesn’t have much to live for. Naturally, he covers this up with hedonistic and often offensive behavior, and by the time he’s in his twenties most of the girls in town know what he looks like naked.

So. Complicated.

Around town, if he takes pauses from the whirlwind of his life Bellamy thinks he can actually _see_ time standing still, notice the expressions on people’s face, and that’s when he realizes the complexities of everyone people around him. Children that detest their parents but miss the closeness they once had, boyfriends who cheat on their girlfriends but want desperately to love them, teachers who learn from students. He likes chaos, so it is easy for Bellamy to accept this all for what it is. To revel in it.

It is a little more difficult to accept Clarke Griffin, though.

She is his sister’s best friend. But, of course, _relationships are complex things_.

Because despite being Octavia’s confidant, Clarke is also his. There is quite possibly no one in the world that understands him better then her, and Bellamy cannot even really place a specific meaningful conversation with the seventeen year-old girl. It is as if she just _knows._ It is (of course it is) both relieving, because he doesn’t even have to speak and Clarke get it. But its infuriating, because it she is a bit smug about it.

Clarke herself has several complicated relationships. At least, he _assumes_. She and her mother do not get along very well, and after her parents’ sudden divorce she’d had limited contact with her father, whom she was very close to. Despite being attached at the hip, she even frequently butts heads with Octavia, and has almost no relationship with her step-father. He does not even know how to define _their_ relationship, even with the secret smiles, the soothing hands on his shoulder, the resolve in his voice when she tells him he is going too far with disciplining his sister. Beyond that, he thinks he has it all figured out.

His mother is in the hospital, her severe hypertension acting up, and Octavia drags him to Clarke’s large home for the night. She needs her best friend, and somehow, he needs her too, even if it is just a calming blue gaze from across pancakes in the morning while Abby Griffin breaks bad or good news.

As cliché as it is, he is walking down the long stairwell to get some water, heading to the kitchen when he hears voices.

 _“Not right now,”_ hisses Clarke’s voice. It’s tense, but trying for calm, levels and layers that he can hear even without seeing her, and he inches to the double doors.

Through a crack he can see them. Clarke’s step-father, Cage Wallace. He’s a man with shiny hair and pale skin. He smiles like a snake, and Octavia hates him. Thinks he’s _creepy_. Now Bellamy gets why. The man has crowded Clarke against the counter, has a hand on her lower back, trying pulling her impossibly flush against him as the girl tries to pull away. The other hand is firm at her jaw, angling her head so he can press his open mouth to her neck.

Yes, the situation is completely sick and definitely illegal, but his jaw drops almost comically to the floor.

 _“If you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s certainly working,”_ he hears Cage say, and Bellamy leans to look through the crack of the double doors.

Clarke’s face is as impassive and cold as he’s ever seen it, but there’s a sort of hatred lying underneath the surface. She looks him directly in the eye and says, _“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cage.”_

The way she says her step-father’s name is so casual he’s almost a little more disturbed. At the moment he doesn’t see the seventeen year old girl throwing popcorn at his sister during Archer marathons. She’s acting older than she is, and somehow, that is worse for him to stomach.

_“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Are you fucking him?”_

Bellamy does a double take. Because he knows Cage is talking about him. Because for all the comfort he receives in Clarke’s unspoken support and friendship there is nothing more than that between them. Is there?

_“No.”_

Cage smiles, like a snake, with no humor, no love, no _anything._ And Bellamy thinks suddenly that this man is not complicated. He is purely a manipulative piece of shit who is screwing his underage step-daughter.

Cage pulls her in closer, completely against him, and tangles a hand roughly through her blonde hair, Clarke’s head lolls back at his whim like a doll’s. All she does is stare at him, blue eyes cold and challenging as he speaks, _“You’re a lying little whore.”_

Clarke’s eyes narrow, _“You’re paranoid.”_

 _“Prove it,”_ Cage hisses, and the sentence doesn’t even end before Clarke reaches up and crushes her lips to his, curls her small fists into his shirt.

And then he gets _angry._ Bellamy retreats upstairs.

He is in Clarke’s bedroom, waiting for her against his better judgement, when she arrives, lips swollen and then, when she sees him, eyes wide. Bellamy gets up, crosses his arms, looks her up and down, and for the first time, sees something different.

“What are you doing?” Clarke asks, hastily, a half-whisper and she walks to him in a slow stride. Under any other circumstance, he might have kissed her. Might have realized he loved her, loved that small smile, that pragmatic intellect, that reason and fairness. That laugh, that vision of sunlight on her hair, the freckle above her lip. But, now? He is just angry.

All he says is, “Telling you that you have until morning to tell your mom her husband is a sick fuck who’s been having sex with her daughter.”

Clarke freezes. He can see her swallow, “It’s not that simple.”

Things are rarely simple. But, this is.

Bellamy puts two hands on her shoulders, and looks her in the eye, hoping that his gaze is comforting, that is conveys how much he cares, “You’re seventeen. He’s like, forty _._ It’s _illegal._ It’s _simple_.”

Clarke’s eyes flint across his face, and then, impossibly, she tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him. Hard, tongue slipping into his mouth and sliding with his delicious and filthy. It is nothing like he’d imagined, and now that he is kissing her, he can admit, yes. He’d imagined it. He thought it would be quick, chaste, soft. But, she presses up against him _hard_ , he can feel her breasts indulgent and perfect against his chest through her thin nightgown and his t-shirt. And before he can stop himself, he’s groaning into her mouth and _touching_ her, hands gliding up her flimsy gown and pressing into thighs so soft they seem delicate, like if he presses too hard he will leave bruises, and he really doesn’t want to hurt her, which is why he pulls away.

Her cheeks are flushed, and when she opens her eyes, they are blue and glittering and looking at him like he’s the only thing in the universe that matters.

“Nothing is ever simple.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sonder' is not a real word, but, obviously I am a real procrastinator. Chapter three of 'i've come to burn your kingdom down' is almost done.
> 
> Also, this is violently unbeta'd, like all my other stories.


End file.
